


Casus Belli

by MediocreGatsby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU magic, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Magic, F/M, First Meetings, Gryffindor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Magic, M/M, No Beta, No Hogwarts, Not Famous Harry Potter, Not Your Average Chosen Boy Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Alliances, Political Campaigns, Political Parties, Potions, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slytherin, Spies, Werewolves, Would love me some betas, neutral magic, revolutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreGatsby/pseuds/MediocreGatsby
Summary: Long ago, the Muggles won the war. Instead of forcing the magical into hiding, a treaty was made. Now, magicians still have their hands tied while the Muggles create more and more inventions that are rending magic obsolete.Sorcerian Draco Malfoy prefers to remain neutral, but as storms brew in the political climate, neutrality is no longer an option. Meanwhile, Harry Potter is a Gryffindor Order member who won't let anything stop him from getting to Royal Sorcerian Tom Riddle to avenge his mother and prevent a new war with the Muggles.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Casus Belli

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> *don't make a long note; don't make a long note* *but there's shit they need to know* *damnit*  
> Okay, so, welcome to this weird little AU I've created.  
> First things first, while this fic is heavily politically themed, only about 10% of it is intentional satire/allusion to current real-life politics. Correlations between events in this fic and real-life are /not/ intentional and can't be helped. I feel the need to state this because one, those currently being hurt by today's real-life things might want to be warned in case something is triggering and two, there's not a damn thing in this fic meant to encourage or solicit real-life politics upon me nor the readers.  
> Lastly, !!!!!please be aware!!!!! that the magical arts are different here than in the HP-verse. You can find a glossary [here](https://hpau-casus-belli.tumblr.com/post/630265198375206912/witch-magical-arts-that-require-extensive), but what you really need to know is that people aren't called witches/wizards based on gender. The titles are based on blood-status and what kind of area of magic they practise, and all titles are gender-neutral.  
> Trans rights are human rights. Point, blank, period.
> 
> Casus Belli: the alleged justification for acts of war

Draco Malfoy, the youngest in the Sorcery Malfoy family of the Royal Sorcery Court, sat in an elaborate drawing room, unimpressed. Theodore Nott, of the Sorcery Nott family of the Royal Sorcery Court, sat across from him, probably equally unimpressed but far more practised at concealing it.

There was very little cause for pretence currently, Draco thought. They both knew exactly why Draco had been invited over, exactly where any conversation would lead, and the reasoning behind all of it. He would really rather just not bother, but as he himself wasn't quite sure how the inevitable conversation would result, he supposed he would just have to trek through it. His top priority was not declaring himself one way or another; not in opinion, not in politics, not in beliefs. 

Not today.

He relaxed back against the sofa, having only just arrived long enough to shrug off his coat. A tray of tea promptly popped itself into existence for both the gentlemen, and Draco took a long pull of his while Nott merely sat his aside.

"How are your studies, Sorcerian Malfoy?" Nott opened. He said this as politely as anything, but his lip curled slightly at the word 'studies'.

"Excellent," Draco answered. "I've made a lot of progress over the past year."

"Yes," Nott agreed, "I heard you received another, ah… award? This makes what, five now?"

"Three," Draco bristled. He had only earned three. It was true, however, that his advancements in the art of potion-making practically made him a Master. In fact, as much as he studied and brewed with Sorcerian Master Snape, he _was_ a Master, in all but title. If the world wasn't in such a state of unrest, this would normally be greeted with praise.

As it stood, it appeared more like Draco burying his head in the sand. He was grateful no one had yet accused him of it outright as it would be rather difficult to defend, all things considered.

"Three." Nott granted him a small nod. "I take it that this award marks the end of this most recent academic stint?"

 _Yes_ , Draco thought. "Not at all," he lied. "The award was for something else entirely. A happy—but accidental—discovery in the lab."

"I see." Nott raised an eyebrow. Draco could tell, though, that he was not surprised. "Pity."

"Not so much," Draco said smoothly. "I do enjoy the work."

"Quite." Nott finally took a sip of his tea, and Draco was lamented to see he had almost finished his own. 

He immediately chastised himself for allowing such a nervous-tell to show, having spoken between constant sips. The abolishment, as always, sounded like his father's voice. He had mostly been successful getting that voice out of his head, but at moments like these, when he was forced into the company of the members of the Court, that voice grew stronger. This was another reason to stay away, he had adamantly defended in the past, ignoring suggestions from Sorcerian Master Snape that perhaps exposure would be better.

"I take it you've seen the papers," Nott changed the subject. It was a purposely innocuous steer, a small trap, one Draco could always spot miles away but could never do anything about.

"Depends on which one," he tried.

"Oh, the Goldstein case has been in all of them."

Draco stopped himself from swearing. "Ah. That case. Yes, indeed I've read about it."

"It won't take long, you know. The Goldsteins are widely respected, and I suspect it won't take five minutes for the Court to side in their favour."

"You sound disappointed."

"No, not at all. If the court genuinely feels that is the best course of action, I, of course, will stand with them proudly."

And then Draco had to stop himself from snorting. 

Theodore Nott and he had grown up together. Draco knew good and well that Nott would much rather throw the Goldsteins in Azkaban than to let them influence the Court. Or rather, some of the things the Court was being slowly manipulated to do. Draco never thought much about it growing up, but when he was old enough for his father to think he was ready to start learning the tricks of the trade, as it were, it became too clear just how easily the Court could be manipulated. The Muggles were definitely terrified of it, or rather simply of them. It was why they had a branch of government solely to focus on magic, a whole Ministry of Magic. It was to restrict the magical, but also to protect the non-magical.

The amount of history Draco had been forced to study over the judicial side of things was dizzying to think about still today. However, he did understand, probably more than most, where the Muggles were coming from. He had seen, up close and personal, just how _Dark_ magic could get. 

His closest guarded secret was just how non-Dark his own was.

Centuries ago, the Muggles won the war, but by a stroke of unprecedented empathy, they did not attempt to stomp magical people out of existence. Instead, they forged a treaty, so they could live in peace.

It worked and had been working for a very long time. Draco just couldn't understand why it seemed to be failing now. Sure, there were people like Nott and his father who were part of the government and directly behind the winds of the climate, but surely, not even they… well, surely, Nott would not wish half of what was resulting.

It was thoughts like that which reminded him just how comfortable burying one's head into the sand really could be.

Accepting Nott's very PR answer, Draco decided to move things along. "I take it, then, that I am not needed? If the Court seems that sure of a decision."

Nott narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps, but you are always wanted. Last year, you barely cast your three allotted votes."

This was true, but Draco felt like he could soothe some of his guilt over his lack of participation because he had just genuinely forgotten about his last vote. 

Being a Sorcerian and a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Draco by law had rights to cast three epistocracy votes a year. That was, of course, in Royal Court, where Muggles and magicians together ruled on issues. In the Sorcery Court, Draco had an outstanding seat and unlimited votes. For the first three years, he had actually enjoyed it. For the last seven, now, he had convenient academic trips, experiments, or emergencies whenever the Sorcery Court voted on anything more serious than the regulations of cauldrons.

"It is only March. The year is early yet," he said carefully, finishing off his tea.

Nott abruptly stood and strolled toward his large townhouse windows. They were in London, and from outside Draco could hear the low rumble of the public, a few shouts of merchants, the clomps of horses and whooshes of the carriages they pulled. Draco idly wondered after the sky, it's standard city-grey making it almost impossible to tell if it would rain or not.

"Look at that," Nott said stiffly. "Another new _invention_."

"Hm?"

"Gas-lights, they're calling them. I've heard mention of them. A request came through the office, asking for the removal of lighting spells on several streets to test them. I suppose the proposal succeeded."

"Good for them," Draco said lowly. "Progress."

"Progress," Nott repeated, all politeness out of his voice.

"Does it worry you? The Muggles becoming more self-sufficient?"

Nott didn't answer at first, his back perfectly straight where it faced Draco. Then, his voice back to that perfected political-polite balance, "Times are indeed changing. The Muggles are becoming more progressive each year." He turned his head slightly to regard Draco over his shoulder. "We must, of course, remain neutral."

A chill crawled up Draco's spine because he knew definitively that Nott's actual meaning was the opposite.

Because this? _This_ was why he was here. 

When he was young, it all seemed so simple. There were people who were magicians, which made them better than other people, and there were people who were magical through pure, family blood, and they were the best. Therefore, it was odd when Draco embarked into the world only to learn that actually, not many people agreed with that assessment. And then he began to meet people, non-pure-blood magicians, Muggles even, and he couldn't quite understand why he would ever believe himself superior. It had him questioning so many other values he was raised to believe, facts that turned out to be ignorant and unjust opinions, and practises that with new eyes were just cruel.

Loathe him to actually say it out loud, however. 

Once he actually began participating in politics, he quickly learned that it was less that the politicians cared about the people they were supposed to represent and more that they cared about their vaults. He had yet to meet a politician who hadn't drastically changed their political opinions and votes over the years. Particularly if they had recently dined with the infamous, long-standing political leader, Sorcerian Riddle.

Or, as Draco knew, the man whose closest circles called him Lord Voldemort.

There were times Draco couldn't even bring himself to say the name Riddle, but it was better than thinking of him as _Lord_. He was already well known by the time Draco was grown, and Draco had had to watch in horror as he grew in influence. Not many people knew he was behind Minister Fudge's policies and the decisions his administration made. Fudge was nothing more than a fool, a puppet, a stooge. No, Riddle was behind the current administration, breeding in frankly old-fashion and all-around ignorant ideals, and Draco was genuinely sad it was working.

It didn't help that the current political climate among the magicians was being fueled by the progressive one among the Muggles. Among the Muggles, their inventions were quickly making the magicians needed less and less, and most of the magically-inclined were terrified of losing their jobs, their careers, their _livelihood_. Many were angry that the Muggles had constricted and regulated so much of their magic, forcing magicians to follow laws that bound their capacity and their very nature, only to turn around and create sudo-magic of their own while conveniently not breaking any established restrictions magicians had.

Muggles were flourishing, however, in areas no one could have predicted. Hell, the current Muggle administration had even removed all sodomy laws. His father's face when that news reached them was priceless, making Draco quietly celebrate with the Muggles.

Draco could honestly say he didn't agree with most of the values or beliefs he grew up in, nor did he agree with Slytherin politics. In fact, most of his opinions sided more often than not with _Gryffindors_ , but that he would only ever admit to himself. No, in public, when he was called to weigh in, he was, indeed, neutral. As most were.

But that was only on the surface. Slytherin was one of the largest, strongest political parties for magicians, named after Salazar Slytherin who helped lead the magicians in the war. The opposing party was Gryffindor, named after the man who ended Slytherin's massacre in Spain and helped forge the treaty with the Muggles after the war. There were rumours those two historical figures had once been friends, even almost opened up some kind of magical boarding school, but to see any party-member converse with another, one wouldn't think so.

Draco, both on and off the record, was un-declared. His father called that a cop-out, but it suited Draco. Perhaps most of his circle considered him a coward. Better a coward, however, than a soft, poofy cat-paw, or worse, a blood-traitor.

As political tensions kept rising, and more and more people were going missing or straight-out being killed, as protests in other countries were being met with brute and fatal force, and rights of citizens and immigrants alike kept being systematically stripped away, Draco's silence and neutrality were beginning to become a problem for both sides. After all, he was Sorcerian Draco Malfoy, the sole heir to the Malfoy bloodline. He could go to a party for five minutes and end up in all the papers, particularly in the society pages. Any speech he gave, which were mostly academic speeches and lectures, ended up on the front page. As an elite Socrcerian, he was, for all intents and purposes, as close to actual royalty a magician could get without actually being a _Royal_ Sorcerian.

Thus, this visit. 

If Draco was agreeable to Nott, to Slytherins and their causes, he could go into the Royal Court, cast his ballot against the Goldsteins, and his one vote would count as much if not more than six Muggle ones. Because he was highly influential, many other epistocratics would likely follow his lead. If he had the mind to, Draco could single-handedly influence the Goldsteins right into Azkaban. 

If he had the mind to, he could play a critical role in having the harbouring of Muggle refugees by magicians, the Goldsteins' crime, illegal and punishable to the greatest extent in both courts. 

If he had the mind to, with just one vote, could steer the tides toward a storm that could change everything.

His mind, however, was on tea.

"Well, this has been a lovely visit," he said with a smile, setting his empty cup on the table and standing. "As I had warned, I can't stay for long. I'm afraid I must be off."

"I see," Nott hummed. He stared at Draco for another moment, assessing, then turned back to look out the window. "Until next time, then. Good day, Sorcerian Malfoy."

"Sorcerian Nott," Draco returned, hooking his cloak into place.

He showed himself out, but it wasn't until he was around the corner and Apparting to his personal lab that he felt like he could breathe again.

His lab was his favourite place. He had an academic lab at a university, financed by said university where he sometimes taught or lectured. There was his work lab, one he mostly shared with Sorcerian Master Snape, which was significantly better stocked and the envy of most Masters, and then there was his personal one at home.

He lived in London, just a hair away from Canary Wharf in a magician district, in his own townhouse. He had converted the entire basement to be a potions lab, and while he didn't have the room to be as well-stocked as his work lab, his stock was far more precise to his needs and held a collection of rare ingredients. The whole lab had a permanent scent of goosegrass and cottonwood, from both his brewing and his attempt to rid the room of some of the more unpleasant side effects from mistakes. Or, with some particularly nasty potions, from successes. 

Nothing in the world could comfort him like his personal lab.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much to occupy him now that his burn-salve had been passed to research witches.

"Right," he said to the room. "Time to start a new project."

It usually wasn't that difficult to find something, and sure enough, it took only a few days to run across an old letter from Sorcerian Master Damocles Belby, writing for Draco's opinion on an idea of his. The idea was intriguing, the academic and practical challenge of it enticing, and something that was sure to take up a lot of his time.

"Perfect."

When Draco was nineteen, he learned the truth about Dark and Light magic. That education came with a hefty amount of disillusionment that in turn made it all very anticlimactic. 

Light magic was simply magic centred around construction, and Dark was a process of deconstruction. _Lumos_ , for example, was the construction of literal light; whereas, _Fumos_ was the deconstruction of light. Healing magic, for another example, was the construction from damaged molecules, and curses were generally the deconstruction of healthy molecules.

Therefore, something inherently more complicated, such as lycanthropy, was not technically completely Dark. Yes, it was mostly Dark, but with it also came the construction of one's strength, senses, and instincts along with a healing factor of its own. Not to mention the construction of physical traits when triggered along with the deconstruction of others.

 _Arguably,_ Draco wrote in his journal, _the monthly deconstruction of one's mental facilities that gives way for the construction of the 'beast within', which is more or less already activated from the moment of the original bite and merely repressed until said deconstruction, is the most destructive to the subjects._

The sweet smell of his tea caught his attention, and he rose from one of his many desks with a journal still in hand to strode down to where it was boiling. He removed the kettle from the gas burner he had there and chewed his lip as he pulled milk from one of his Muggle iceboxes. 

He was in his private lab again, where he had spent the majority of his time the last two months to prevent anyone guessing his project nor his natural means of magic to accomplish it. He had been equipping it with more and more Muggle inventions with a few magical adjustments, and though he had noticed a small interference in some of his magical equipment, which meant eventually he would have to separate them, it wasn't enough to skew results. And they were simply a delight to use.

Draco stood studying his new installation of iceboxes for about five minutes before he realised he was distracting himself from his original distraction.

He had successfully been distracting himself for seven months now with his work with Belby. They had made some great strides, and for the first time since starting the project, Draco was beginning to realise that they stood a real chance at creating something that could change lycanthropy as the world knew it. It was literally ground-breaking, and it terrified him.

They had gone as far as they could go without actually introducing test subjects. Earlier that day, Draco had sent Belby another long list of other test subjects they could try before progressing to actual werewolves. Lycanthropy was a curse that only affected humans, but there were other curses that inflected other animals that were close enough to begin. Belby knew Draco was dragging his feet, but Draco couldn't help it.

For one, he was simply scared of werewolves. He was intelligent enough to know the fear was largely irrational, that the majority of those inflicted were only dangerous around the full moon, but then there were others. Draco wished he didn't know about them. But he reasoned that those like Greyback, a 'family friend', wouldn't want anything to do with the potion anyway. It was a safe assumption that those who would volunteer to be test subjects would be of agreeable demeanour and genuinely want the potion's success.

Which led him to the other reason to drag his feet: there were definitely some people who would _not_ want this potion to succeed. Belby confessed he figured that because Sorcerian Malfoy was involved in the creation, those most likely to protest would be forced into silence or allow it simply because he was Sorcerian Malfoy. That if nothing else, because of his involvement, no one would believe the potion to be as life-changing as it was sure to be, not until it was too late to stop it.

Draco knew better, and tonight could potentially show exactly what kind of fight it would be to continue. If he was brave enough to test the waters.

It was the first week of October, and the gala season was in full swing. Draco privately called it battle season. This year especially was going to be difficult to navigate if because nothing else, Draco hadn't cast a single vote in either the Royal or Sorcery Courts. It was true that he and Belby wouldn't have made the progress they had with their invention if Draco participated more in other things, but considering _what_ the project was, Draco was hesitant of the reaction.

Never mind that the cases passing through the courts these days were enough to make his stomach turn.

"Sorcerian Malfoy," said Wadpey, one of Draco's house-elves.

Draco groaned. "Is it time?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Thanks, Wadpey. If you could do me a favour and just kill me, that would be great."

Wadpey shifted nervously. He knew she knew he was joking, but Dobby was the only elf that seemed to know how to handle when he did.

"Right. Never mind. Thank you, Wadpey."

"Of course, sir." With a muted _pop_ , she disappeared.

Draco sighed and looked forlornly at his tea. He was already dressed in his gala-best, and if Wadpey was fetching him, he was very close to being later than what was fashionable. With a gut full of dread, Draco dumped his tea and locked up his lab.

He took a magician carriage to the gallery. The gallery was at the Royal Academy in London and was the starting location for this gala event, which he was pretty sure was for raising money for higher magician education. Starting locations usually frequented magicians who were not quite elite enough to warrant an invitation to the main event, but were influential and famous enough to be expected. Along with them would be the elite Muggles such as the Prime Minister and the Court Royals, but only a handful of them were ever invited to the main event as well. 

Of course, circling the entire gallery was, naturally, the press. 

Draco's carriage arrived to double lines of Muggle coppers holding back the yelling journalists and flashing photographers. He ignored them as he made his way inside, but inside, he had to do a circuit to pay his respects to the location and actually talk to members of the press who somehow earned a special pass.

It was always the same.

Yes, Sorcerian Draco Malfoy fully supported the causes for which this event was, and he was encouraged to see such a diverse turnout. "It's always encouraging to see the continued good relations between our respective worlds."

Yes, Sorcerian Draco Malfoy was still heavy in academia and research, and he believed education, in particular, was the cornerstone for good politics and charitable communities. "I began my education as a humble sorcery apprentice, and now I lecture at prominent universities and have assisted to make several breakthroughs in health and healing magic. With education, anything is possible."

Sorcerian Draco Malfoy continued to give his apologies, but, with a charming chuckle, "I don't discuss my private life; besides, there are so many more things worthwhile to speak of tonight than whom I may or may not be dating."

Yes, Sorcerian Draco Malfoy had the utmost confidence in their respective governments and their leaders, and he gave his full support to the administrations that worked so tirelessly for their people. "Our governments have to make hard decisions day after day, and while some might not be popular, I know they have our best interests at heart."

No, Sorcerian Draco Malfoy did not believe in whatever conspiracy was currently being spread, and it worried him because paranoia could lead to unwarranted unrest or worse. "We are in interesting times, and as such, I believe it is best to keep a sound mind and a critical eye."

And finally, as always…

"What has been the atmosphere in the courts lately?"

"The same as always," Draco lied, giving the petite journalist a knowing smile. "It can always get heated when what's on the dock incites passionate reactions, but in the end, everyone puts their differences aside in order to rule fairly."

Only this time, there was a bit of a hitch.

"But what about the rumours of the debates in the Sorcery Courts, Mr Malfoy? Is there any truth to the in-fighting behind closed doors?"

Draco tried his best not to look surprised. "Again, some issues incite passionate reactions, but I have yet to see any issue that couldn't be ruled on amicably."

"But is it true that Sorcerians are capable of casting mind-magic that can control the court members, even potentially control _our_ court members, making them no different from mere puppets?"

Draco blinked. "I assure you, the Sorcery Courts are no different than yours, ma'am. We enforce the law on ourselves just as it is enforced in joint courts. No one is being mind-controlled."

"But you admit that it is possible? That this kind of magic is possible, and magicians are capable of it?"

"I certainly have never seen it," he dodged.

"But have you heard of it?"

"I imagine I've heard the same as you, which is to say the persistent rumours that if you can imagine it, somehow a magician is capable of it. That is not the case."

"Because your magic is bound by our laws," she persisted. "Without our laws, your kind could do anything you wanted."

Draco clenched his jaw and tried to remain calm. "No, ma'am. Magicians are not limitless."

The journalist pressed forward, clearly not willing to let it go, but Draco took the opportunity of a new wave of Muggles coming back through the balcony doors to make his exit. 

He _hated_ when the continued debate whether or not Muggle laws kept the world safe from magicians came around. Particularly because he didn't have a good answer. " _Why, yes, actually, we are capable of controlling your mind and making you our puppets, and while we are not limitless, if men like my father weren't regulated, he would probably have you as slaves._ "

It was worse than usual, however, because that woman was the first of many to attempt to bring up the issue in one way or another. It was infuriating. Draco kept up to date with current events as best he could, but he was clearly missing something. It made him uneasy, and he itched to bury his head deeper in his metaphorical sand.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to pull himself away and go to the Floo hall where he Flooed to, no surprise, Malfoy Manor.

His mother was usually the first to host galas during the season, and she always did the bulk of the ones involving education. The Manor's Floo Hall opened down the corridor from their own gallery, which opened to a large ballroom with a terrace to the gardens. The ballroom itself was two floors, the first floor having a larger gallery and a very large balcony that overlooked the gardens. It was there that the food would be served, but plates full of hors d'oeuvres and drinks still dutifully floated around the ground floor where guests were beginning to settle in. The decorations were elegant with soft cream colours, and the muffled voices of conversation humming pleasantly off the marble floors. 

After Draco hung his cloak on a cloak rack, where it instantly disappeared, he made his way into the ballroom. The terrace doors were open, soft violin music drifting in along with the crisp, cool autumn air. The guests had wide smiles, most giving the area appreciative looks, and everyone seemed clearly comfortable (probably more so than they would admit) to be surrounded by pure magic and nothing industrial or Muggle whatsoever. 

As usual, the festive atmosphere gave way to an eager feeling of something new. Draco had learned to loathe that feeling.

Most guests were slowly making their way up the marble stairs, and Draco quickly made his way up, pausing only now and then when he was effectively cornered by someone. The first to corner him was, of course, Sorcerian Slughorn who still to that day kept attempting to wrangle Draco into accepting some kind of apprenticeship with him. The next was Minister Fudge, who was singing praises of Draco's father's work this year in the courts. Then there was Sorcerian Karkaroff who had a nasty habit of attempting to get Draco to agree to meet with him privately, and finally, Sorcerian Crouch Jr who had an increasingly crazed look in his eye each time Draco saw him.

Draco successfully avoided being cornered by Sorcerians Thicknesses, Umbridge, Jorkins, and Edgecombe. When he spotted Sorcerian Master Snape, he rushed toward him.

"If it isn't my favourite Sorcerian Master," he greeted, taking a subtle breath.

Sorcerian Snape gave him a cool look but didn't say anything. Draco was used to this. Snape did worse at these functions than he himself did.

They finished the trek to the first floor together, purposefully giving off an air as though they were deep in serious discussion, and were able to avoid being approached until they found their respective places among the long table covered in heavy cloth and some of Malfoy Manor's finest dinnerware. To his delight, his reserved place was across from Snape, so he hoped that would salvage some of the night.

Draco was able to grab and finish a drink before a soft chiming warned everyone the courses were about to begin. Lucius took the head of the table a few chairs down from Draco with Narcissa to his right. The Minister of Magic sat on the other end, looking pompous indeed.

"Ah, Sorcerian Malfoy," said a voice to his left. Draco turned and saw Sorcerian Bones, and he felt himself relax further. Bones wasn't his favourite person, but she was probably the fairest member of the courts and always willing to talk about subjects other than politics.

"Sorcerian Bones," Draco smiled. "I've heard best wishes are in order for your niece."

"I'll send them along," she replied. "It's only been a few months, but Amelia has settled into married life quite well."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm sorry to not readily know, but to whom was she betrothed?"

"Sorcerian Longbottom," Bones answered proudly.

"Ah, Sorcerian Longbottom, of course. He's opened that Herbology plant in Scotland, correct?"

"Indeed. Although, it's more of a glorified garden if you ask me. He's done very well for himself, however. He's one of the top five suppliers in Wales."

Draco hummed. "I should get in contact then."

Bones' eyes lit up. "Absolutely. I can send you their information if you want. I know Sorcerian Longbottom gives discounts and regular delivery schedules for researchers."

Draco brightened. "Is that so? Then absolutely send the information."

"What is that you're working on these days?" She asked to continue the conversation as the washbowls were replaced with soup. "And congratulations on the latest award. It was for burn-salve, correct?"

"Yes, thank you." Draco paused to sip his soup, thinking of the best way to answer her question. "I've moved a bit more into practical research these days. Academic research will always be my lady-love, but I do enjoy the break from theory into application on occasion."

"I can understand that. I imagine it keeps you quite busy. This is why we haven't seen you in the courts this year?"

Draco suppressed a wince, feeling his father's eyes on him from down the table. He made sure to lower his voice under the pretence of blowing politely on his next spoonful of soup. "I've tried to keep up, but there's only so much my head can hold these days."

Bones chuckled. "I know the feeling. I used to be able to help out in other departments, but for the last few years, the cases across the dock require a lot more detailed investigation than before. I never thought I'd miss the days being bored from one of Sorcerian Crouch's lectures on international regulations."

Draco forced him to snigger in agreement, trying not to think about just how much those regulations had changed. Before he could steer the subject to more small talk, a voice to Draco's right interrupted.

"How is old Sorcerian Crouch?"

Draco took a steadying breath as he leaned back to allow Bones and his very own cousin, Regulus Black, to talk.

Draco wasn't very close with Regulus, even though out of the rest of the family, he was closer to the man than others. When he was younger, he was practically Regulus' shadow. Regulus was everything their family demanded a proper Sorcerian to be. When his older brother was disowned, Regulus stepped up and became the heir of the House Black. He mastered most of all branches of magic, becoming more than a mere magician or even Sorcerian but a proper witch, wizard, and warlock (his official title being Sorcerian Warlock Master Sir Regulus Black, Magician of Witchcraft and Wizardry), and despite that, he was always present in the courts, using his great influence and fame to navigate the water in his family's favour.

He was also, Draco knew, one of Sorcerian Riddle's close associates. While both Slytherin and Gryffindor parties publicly denied their respective radical groups, the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, and the public by and large believed them to be conspiracy rumours, Draco knew better. He knew because of his father's secret robes and a certain mark he wore on his skin. Regulus was highly regarded in almost every circle, but highest by far was within those closest to Riddle.

Draco quickly finished his soup as Bones and Regulus discussed the latest foreign policies.

"I imagine that makes it challenging for you, Sorcerian Malfoy," Bones said, clearly trying to include him.

Draco had to think a moment to know what they were discussing exactly. "Quite. The laws around rare potions ingredients get stricter every year, either by us or the Muggles."

"They wouldn't be so restrictive if the Muggles just let us handle it," Regulus gruffed.

"We simply need to come to an agreement," Bones countered diplomatically. "If we can show the Prime Minister that suspicions around certain ingredients are unfounded, I'm sure—"

"They would find another reason to be suspicious," Snape interrupted.

"Without fail," Regulus agreed.

"With proper education of our potion abilities and uses—"

"Have continued to go unrecognised and underutilised by the Muggles for centuries," Snape sneered.

"Nonsense. Draco, you lecture at Muggle universities, yes?"

Draco's soup had been replaced with a small salad, and he was enjoying chasing a walnut around his plate. Now, he laid his fork down and put on his best appeasing expression. "I do, but I'm afraid as a guest lecturer, I am limited to how potions and Muggle chemistry coincide."

Both Snape and Regulus snorted.

"That's a start," Bones said as if it settled the matter.

"What are you working on now, Draco?" Regulus asked. "I believe I overheard you telling Sorcerian Bones it's in practical research."

"It is, which can be significantly more time-consuming."

"Apparently," Regulus reverted lowly.

"I believe you've been working with Sorcerian Master Belby," Snape added with a raised eyebrow.

Draco had been purposely avoiding Snape's questions about their project, knowing how the man felt about werewolves and still unsure how the man felt about certain topics. The fact that he was pushing the matter at a gala, of all places, meant his patience was officially depleted. 

"It's been a pleasure," Draco nodded. "He is very intelligent and bright, and he has truly creative ideas."

"And one of these ideas you feel has merit."

"I… first was intrigued by the challenge, but we have made a great deal of progress."

"So, something of Sorcerian Belby's creative imagination might actually work?" Regulus asked, doubt clear in his tone.

"Sorcerian Belby has had many successes over the years," Bones contributed. Her salad was being replaced with the main course, and Draco quickly shoved a few bites of his own in his mouth before laying his fork across his plate to signal he was finished. His plate, too, was replaced.

"This food smells delicious, as always," Draco tried.

Luckily, Bones immediately picked up on that change of subject, and Draco happily followed along. He didn't miss, however, Snape's cold glare or Regulus' calculating one.

With Snape's antisocial lack-of-contribution, Regulus usual crypticness, and Bones' jovial willingness for whichever subject was brought up, the rest of the courses went smoothly, and Draco found himself remembering why some of these things could be enjoyable. The food had exotic themes while not being too adventurous, and the taste met his mother's usual demand for excellence. They finished with the dessert that was some kind of flaming pudding, the last of the palette cleansers being passed around as the pudding was reduced to embers. 

Thus began probably the most sociable part of the evening.

As the guests made their way downstairs and the music turned into something more upbeat and dance-worthy, Draco made sure to stop by his parents. He shook his father's hand and kissed his mother's cheek, complimenting them on the turn out and the excellent food and decoration. His mother welcomed him as she always did, and his father merely commented that he was surprised Draco could get away—telling Draco in his own way just how angry he was in Draco's continued absence.

Those kinds of pointed comments stopped stinging years ago.

Draco then made his way downstairs where he was whisked away by elitists desperate to introduce him to their daughters, granddaughters, nieces, and other available, well-bred females. He obliged dancing with a few, finding those who could actually engage him intellectually far more tolerable than those who spent the time telling him of their pure blood and mastery of skills suited for a Sorcerian's wife. It was tedious, but he eventually got to dance with each of the Greengrass sisters who were possibly less interested in betrothal than he was. Dancing with them was always a good time.

Between dances, Draco suffered through conversations, giving out congratulations and best wishes where they were due, engaging in sociality gossip of which he was more than passable thanks to his friend Sorcerian Pansy Parkinson (who was always up to date despite living in Egypt), and eventually leisured his way into the gardens.

Here, it was late enough into the night that those he would encounter throughout the gardens would be deep into their own conversation, aiming for some semblance of privacy. The older guests were already making their last rounds inside before leaving, and soon after, the men and women left would divide. Draco wasn't sure where the women went to, but the men usually congregated in a smaller hall where cards were dealt, heftier drinks were served, pipes were passed around, and 'business' was engaged.

Draco always had to clear his head before that part. Reaffirm himself and what he was going to say.

He enjoyed the gardens anyway. They were, of course, always altered and decorated for these events, but even in the day-to-day, Narcissa Malfoy loved her gardens. Fairy lights twinkled over the most colourful of flowers, and the large bushes were cut to depict either famous or magisterially obscure magician statues. The gardens probably had his second favourite smell outside his labs.

Out here, he could almost pretend he was little again. Sneaking out with his starter broom to practise flying. Hiding his governess' reading glasses in the shrubs. Chasing the peacocks into them to watch his parents argue which were more important: the peacocks or gardens. That last one stopped working when he was nine.

He stepped up on a stone bench to squint in the distance where the conservatory was just visible. Inside them held more precious memories, such as his mother teaching him the beginnings of herbology, his father giving him his first lecture of superior genes via magical versus mundane plants, and Sorcerian Master Snape giving him potion lessons. Inside was a perfectly innocuous pond that, in actuality, was an illegal concourse into a magical lake full of all kinds of magical creatures and aquatic plants. 

"Never saw much appeal to gardens," said a voice behind him, making Draco jump and almost fall off the bench. Noticing this, he quickly jumped down and straightened his robes before looking for whom the voice belonged.

It was Regulus.

Draco cleared his throat. "Regs—Sorcerian Black."

Regulus gave a soft smile, and Draco had to squint again to make sure he was seeing properly. The stiff, regal Sorcerian Warlock Master Sir Regulus Black, Magician of Witchcraft and Wizardry that he was so used to was gone, and in front of him was indeed the Regs he remembered. His body language was more relaxed, his face significantly more open, and although his eyes were just as sharp and cool as ever, they looked more receptive rather than calculating. The last Draco saw of this kind of Regulus was the last vacation they shared in Scotland before Regulus was officially inducted into the Sorcery and Royal Court as one of their main epistocratic chairs.

Draco cleared his throat again, realising he just missed what Regulus said in reply. "Pardon me, what was that?"

"I said Regs is fine. It's just you and me… _Dray_."

Draco let himself smile. "Dray is not fine, if you please. If we must be familiar with each other, my old nickname will suffice."

"Of course, _little dragon_."

"Not _that_ old," Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. It should have been worrisome he could fall so readily into the ease they used to communicate. Instead, it was a relief.

"Oh, fine, if you insist. It's nice to see you again, Drace."

"You, too… Regs" Draco said sincerely. "What has brought you out into the gardens?"

"I was looking for you, actually."

"That's not ominous."

"It isn't. The distance between us only makes it sound as such."

"'The distance…?'" Draco frowned. 

"I heard a rumour…" Regulus opened, slowly stepping forward to make them begin walking. Draco followed, feeling an ominous chill indeed. "See, there had been a Muggle bill passing through their courts to begin new legislation against those inflicted with lycanthropy. It's more lugubrious than the others. They are suggesting detainment centres."

Draco felt his frown deepen in his confusion. "The Moon Camps? I know it was proposed, but it was shot down. The Prime Minister said they were no better than the Muggle camps Grindelwald had."

"And he was right. Those were declined, but these are the exact same, just renamed and rebranded to sound less malicious and more helpful to both the inflicted and the nation."

"... Ah." Draco was a bit thrown off but both the news and Regulus' bluntness.

"But it's been stalled."

"How so?"

"The Muggles apparently have it on good authority that a couple of Sorcerian Masters are developing a potion that will eliminate any threats lycanthropians pose."

Draco was going to kill Belby. "Elimination is impossible."

"Altogether, yes, I suppose. But the Sorcery Court has also heard rumours that it may be feasible for a potion to allow a lycanthropian to keep their mind during the full moon."

And promptly after killing Belby, Draco was going to kill himself. " _If_ such a thing was being developed, the courts would know about it."

"Unless the developers were Sorcerians."

Draco clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"Which is stirring further unrest in the Royal Court. As you know, Sorcerians do not need court approval to perform any kind of magic, as is their blood right. The Muggles feel it is a mistake to allow any kind of magic to go unsanctioned and unmonitored any longer, and the idea that a Sorcerian can create mind-potions in secret is…"

"Terrifying them," Draco guessed.

Regulus stopped, gently touching Draco's arm to make him look at him. "The Sorcery Court is just confused why any Sorcerian would go to the trouble to help _werewolves_ , let alone create something that would guarantee them judicial claim to equality."

"' _Judicial—?_ '" Draco squeaked then dropped his voice to a low hiss. _"_ Judicial claim to equality?!"

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "What would you call it?"

Draco opened his mouth before the realisation of the trap he just stepped in slammed into him. He stood straight and crossed his arms. 

Regulus smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm always opened to ideas, corrections, etc, just please be kind.


End file.
